


The Snitches on Malfoy's Boxers Were Incredibly Distracting

by belmanoir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During 5th year, Umbridge organizes a school spelling bee. Hermione's practice session turns into Strip Spelling, and Harry and Malfoy are both terrible spellers...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snitches on Malfoy's Boxers Were Incredibly Distracting

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this xkcd comic](http://www.xkcd.com/305/). _No homoerotic spelling bees on the internet? That's just not right,_ I thought while reading it. Then I got a voicemail message from a friend saying "YOU'D BETTER BE WRITING HOMOEROTIC SPELLING BEE FIC RIGHT NOW!" So...of course after I wrote it I discovered there were already plenty of homoerotic spelling bee fics out there (including a H/D one by pir8fancier, I think), but oh well.

Hermione had apparently spoken up about the banning of extracurricular activities once too often. Dolores Umbridge decided that a school-sponsored extracurricular would improve student morale. Her choice? A spelling bee. And not the kind with spells, either. The kind with letters and words no one but Hermione had ever heard.

There were groans all over the school. The loudest (at least, Harry assumed, he couldn't hear anyone else over the sound of his own) were from Ron and Harry, who knew Hermione would actually make them study. Harry didn't see the point, since Hermione would win anyway. But fighting with her was more trouble than it was worth these days, so Harry dutifully pored over flashcards and sat with his head bent over a copy of  _Quidditch through the Ages_  hidden inside a dictionary.

But even that wasn't good enough for Hermione. She wanted to make sure the entire DA did well, so she organized easily the most boring illicit activity ever: a special DA meeting for spelling practice in the Gryffindor Common Room after curfew.

"Now, I want you all to keep quiet about the DA tonight," she said when everyone was assembled (except for Lavender and Parvati who were inexplicably late), "because--"

There was a loud banging on the door, and Hermione flushed and looked at Harry. "Well, that's probably why," she mumbled, and ran to open the portrait.

In sauntered Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle, and--Harry rubbed at his eyes in the vain hope it was all some kind of flashcard-induced hallucination--Draco Malfoy. All wearing their Inquisitorial Squad badges.

Harry's first thought was that they were being busted. It became apparent this was not the case when Hermione said, "Thank you for coming, guys!"

"What--what are  _they_  doing here?" Harry asked when he could finally speak again.

"Isn't it obvious?" Malfoy drawled, clearly enjoying himself hugely. "Your pet Mu"--he let that linger in the air for a minute before finishing--"Muggleborn invited us."

"Hermione," Harry hissed.

"I thought it would be the best way to keep them from turning us in," Hermione said, straightening her spine. "It's not going to be easy for everyone to get here undetected, Harry."

Harry sulked in a corner for the first few rounds of practice, ignoring Hermione's disapproving glares. Finally she said loudly, "Harry, would you spell 'pigheaded,' please?"

He got up, glaring at her--and at Malfoy who had the nerve to snigger--but fortunately he was interrupted before he had to actually remember if stubborn had one B or two.

"We're here!" Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil shouted, tumbling through the door and carrying several tall glass bottles each. "Look what we brought!"

Everyone cheered.

"Is that firewhisky?" Harry asked.

"No one but village idiots drink firewhisky, Potter," Malfoy said, but the usual contempt in his voice was diluted with awe. " _That_  is amontillado."

Harry stopped himself just in time from saying,  _Hey, Hagrid drinks firewhiskey!_  He was sure Umbridge would love to know that.

"We stole it from Professor Trelawney's personal stash!" Lavender said proudly.

Under the mellowing effects of the sherry, spelling practice no longer seemed quite so dreadful. Harry kept an eye on Malfoy, though. Admitting him into the Gryffindor Common Room  _had_  to have been a bad idea. But over the next half-hour, Malfoy didn't do anything even remotely sinister. Instead, he conjured up a delicate glass goblet with a snake coiled around the stem-- _Showy_ , Harry thought--and tossed back glass after glass of amontillado.

The gold and crimson furnishings of the Common Room made Malfoy's sleek blond hair gleam almost silver, and when he threw back his head to swallow, the long line of his throat was white. After the first few glasses he seemed to need Blaise Zabini for support, if the way he was practically sitting in the boy's lap was any indication. Zabini snaked an arm around Malfoy's shoulders and Harry choked on his own sherry. Slytherin was  _degenerate_.

"Let's play Strip Exploding Snap!" Seamus suggested.

"My God, it's true, Gryffindors are  _degenerate_ ," Malfoy said, his customary drawl exaggerated by the alcohol.

"This isn't a  _party_ ," Hermione snapped. "We're here to practice spelling!"

"Then why not Strip Spelling?" Zabini suggested softly, his eyes on Malfoy, who was smiling at nothing.

Hermione opened her mouth to object, and then narrowed her eyes. They were glittering, and Harry realized with a sinking heart that Hermione had been drinking too. "Done," she said coldly.

"Hermione!" Ron said, appalled. Harry was angry too--Hermione  _knew_  he was a terrible speller--until he heard Malfoy whisper very loudly, "Damn it, Blaise, I'm a  _terrible_  speller!"

Harry snickered quietly to himself, although his pleasure was marred somewhat by the smug, calculating look on Zabini's face. Bloody Slytherins had no loyalty.

Half an hour later, everyone's robes and ties were in a great heap in the corner except for Hermione's, Luna's (Luna was an amazing speller, it turned out, having memorized most of the wizarding dictionary as a child)--and, to everyone's surprise, Goyle's. Goyle was a spelling  _machine_.

Ron had gotten almost as many words wrong as Harry (Harry suspected Hermione was giving him hard ones on purpose), but since he had run upstairs at the first mention of Strip Spelling and come back wearing a Weasley jumper, his hat, scarf, and gloves, a watch, and what turned out to be two pairs of socks, he was still mostly dressed.

Harry was wearing nothing but his jeans and underwear. And Malfoy--Malfoy was wearing only his black French-cuffed button-down ( _Poncy git_ ), one sock, and boxers with Snitches zooming over them. The constant flashes of whirring gold were incredibly distracting. Harry kept reaching out to grab them before he remembered what they were. Thankfully no one seemed to notice but Malfoy, who glared at Harry every time Harry looked his way, even if he couldn't quite seem to focus his eyes any more and kept ending up with his angry gaze somewhere in Harry's chest.

"Wrong!" Hermione said sternly. "All right, Cho, lose the sweater." Harry's head snapped up.

Cho unbuttoned her sweater, reluctance and drunken lack of coordination making her slow. Inch after inch of crisp white shirt was revealed, and Harry was _very_  glad he still had his jeans.  _Please no, please no, please no,_  he told his dick. Mercifully and to his complete surprise, it listened, even when Cho turned out to wearing a black bra.

 _Thank you, Hermione,_  Harry thought fervently.

Then it was Malfoy's turn.

"Metamorphmagus," Hermione said, her eyes glinting.

"M," Malfoy said slowly. "E-T-A-M-O-R-P-H-M--"

Harry held his breath.

"Fuck, where was I?" Malfoy said. Blaise Zabini looked like the cat that ate the cream.

"Wrong," Hermione said. "All right then, Malfoy, off with the sock." It occurred to Harry that Hermione was enjoying all this a little too much.

"But I was holding that sock in reserve," Malfoy said plaintively. "It was the ace up my sleeve!"

"Well, if you'd rather take your shirt off..." Hermione said.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, clear notes of betrayal and disgust in his voice, as the last of Harry's misty gratitude towards her for Cho's bra turned to bitter, bitter loathing. His mouth went dry and his eyes were drawn as if by compulsion to Malfoy's top button. Or rather, his third button, because the top two had come undone at some point and how did anyone get that pale?

"Fine," Malfoy grumbled, and peeled off his sock.

Harry's dick, which had been so obliging about Cho, suddenly threw off all restraint and sprang to eager life.  _This is the worst moment of my life,_  Harry thought despairingly, and hated Malfoy.

Goyle correctly spelled "augury," and then it was Harry's turn. He got to his feet, his dictionary firmly in place in front of his crotch, and Hermione said, "Bundimun."

"Hermione!" he gasped.

"W--well," she stuttered, "I just give you hard words because I want you to, to learn--"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Lavender said. "You know we all want to see Harry's underwear."

"Yeah," Parvati said enthusiastically. "You go, girl!"

Hermione flushed a pleased pink and said, "Thank you."

" _Hermione_ ," Harry said again, warningly.

"You know you can ask me to define it, use it in a sentence, or tell you the language of origin," Hermione said.

"Take it off, Harry!" a girl yelled from the back of the room, and suddenly the whole room was chanting, "Take it off, Harry!"

Harry's eyes flew, in spite of himself, to Malfoy. Malfoy was hiding his face in Blaise Zabini's shoulder, Zabini's dark hand on his white hair. A hot surge of anger welled up in Harry. Malfoy thought he was that disgusting, did he? He was so sure of Harry's failure he couldn't even look? Harry was going to get this word, damn it! He'd seen it somewhere, he knew he had. "Use it in a sentence," he said.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Diluted bundimun secretions are the chief ingredient in many cleaning solutions, including Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish."

That was it! Harry had read the label on that polish a million times. He closed his eyes, trying to picture the ingredients list. He almost had it--almost--

"Potter ought to get that one, he's an expert at polishing his own broomstick," Malfoy said, and laughed.

The image of the little jar exploded into dust and oh, God, he was going to have to take off his jeans. In front of Malfoy. And everyone would see--Harry was never drinking again, because somehow the idea of everyone seeing was terrifying but did nothing to discourage his erection. "That's cheating!" he told Malfoy furiously.

"It's only counter-cheating, Potter," Malfoy said gleefully. "You think no one can see Granger mouthing the letters at you?"

"She wasn't!" Harry said.

Malfoy laughed. "Well, maybe not this time. I'm surprised she hasn't made you learn Occlumency so you can just read the answers in her mind!"

A sudden image of Snape hanging upside down and his father's voice saying,  _Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?_  finally discouraged his erection.

"That's a brilliant idea!" Ron said. "You really have to start practicing Occlumency, Harry!"

"Ron," Harry said through gritted teeth, "that is not an option--"

"Oh, crap at Occlumency, are you?" Malfoy said gleefully. "I--"

Harry roared and charged Malfoy. Malfoy tumbled over backwards as Harry hit him, and suddenly everything was normal and familiar, Malfoy's fists on his shoulders, Malfoy's hands scrabbling at his face, pain exploding in his stomach and lines of stinging pain across his cheeks, Malfoy kicking and writhing beneath him and over him as they rolled over and over.

Malfoy bucked wildly, dislodging Harry long enough to take a leap at him that sent the two of them flying through the archway in the corner of the room and down the tiny corridor that led to the boys' dormitory staircase.

Harry, enraged, elbowed and kicked and struggled until he managed to turn them around so he was on top, straddling Malfoy and holding his wrists above his head. "I win," he hissed.

"Not--likely--" Malfoy got out, bucking his hips again in an effort to dislodge Harry, and Harry's erection came back to life like a phoenix soaring from its ashes.

Harry leaned farther down in an effort to block Malfoy's line of sight, but this only brought Malfoy's mouth into sudden clear focus, mere inches from Harry's own. "What--what are you doing?" Malfoy said, sounding breathless.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and felt something poking him in the thigh. Something that was definitely--he shifted again--inside Malfoy's boxers.

"Stop it," Malfoy said, his gray eyes wide and startled. "I--it was Chang's sweater--I'm normal, I swear I am--"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, thanking God for amontillado because otherwise he would have been running up the stairs to his room about now, and kissed him.

Malfoy gasped and kissed him back, hot and wet and eager, and Harry ground down into the delightful friction of Malfoy's erection against his own through layers of denim and cotton. Malfoy tilted his head back and all that pale throat, well, there was nothing to do but kiss it, over and over, sucking and biting and Malfoy was thrusting up against Harry now, again and again, wildly, and Harry stopped kissing him because he couldn't concentrate, he couldn't think, he was  _almost there_ \--

"Harry and Draco have been gone an awfully long time," Hermione's voice said, very clearly, from the next room. "Do you think they're all right?"

Harry froze.

"Probably just polishing each other's broomsticks," Zabini muttered viciously.

"Shut your gob, Zabini, that's ridiculous!" Ron said.

"I don't think it's ridiculous at all," Luna said dreamily. "Love and hate are two sides of the same Galleon, don't you find?" There was appalled silence in both rooms. Harry and Malfoy stared at each other.

Malfoy's eyes were silver in the moonlight and he looked almost frightened, but he recovered quicker than Harry. "You'd better let go of me," he said, a malicious note in his voice. "We wouldn't want anyone to come in here and suspect that the Boy Who Lived might be be a pouf, would we?"

"Hey!" Harry said, stung. "This wouldn't do  _your_  reputation much good, either!"

Abruptly, Malfoy began to struggle again. "Are you kidding, Potter?" he hissed. "I'd be the envy of the entire school! 'Take it off, Harry,'" he mimicked. "'Oh, his eyes are just like emeralds, oh his stupid scar is so manly and heroic, oh, he looks so sexy in his Quidditch robes'--"

"Well, Blaise Zabini seemed pretty anxious to see you take off your shirt," Harry said furiously.

Malfoy stopped struggling. "Really?  _Blaise_? But...Blaise is practically a  _sex god_!"

Harry squeezed Malfoy's wrists so hard he could practically feel the bones grinding together, and didn't Malfoy  _eat_? He was pointy and annoying and weirdly pale and Harry hated him and why had he ever thought, even for a second--

"Potter, I bet that's the nicest thing you've ever said to anybody," Malfoy announced. "I think you deserve a blowjob."

Harry stiffened--everywhere. "R--really?"

"Why not?" Malfoy said. "This evening can't get any more surreal than it is already. Get off me."

Harry scrambled to his feet. His heart pounded in his ears as Malfoy got to his knees in front of him, the crooked curve of Malfoy's mouth suddenly the most fascinating thing Harry had ever seen.

"Spell 'asphodel,'" Malfoy whispered.

"Wh--what?" Harry asked, completely disoriented.

"Wrong." Malfoy smiled. "Take off your jeans, Potter."

Harry rushed to undo the button of his fly, fumbling several times in his haste but finally getting the zipper down and shucking out of the jeans, praying Malfoy wouldn't comment on the flying broomsticks on his boxers. In fact, Malfoy only wheezed like a hyena trying desperately to be quiet for a few seconds. The stone wall was cold against Harry's back as those slender white fingers that Harry had seen scrabbling for the Snitch a hundred times slowly reached into Harry's boxers. Harry sucked in a breath at the feel of Malfoy's hand and waited eagerly for more. Instead, Malfoy pulled out Harry's dick and eyed it warily. "Well, how hard can it be?" he said finally, and opened his mouth.

Harry trembled as Malfoy's mouth closed around him, Malfoy's tongue pressing against the underside of his dick. Malfoy swallowed, and Harry bucked forward convulsively.

Malfoy pulled off, choking. "Don't  _move_ ," he said when he could catch his breath.

Harry gritted his teeth and wished he had said no. Malfoy clearly had no idea what he was doing and if Harry didn't come soon he was going to explode. Malfoy tried again, very slowly, and sure, it was warm and wet and Harry supposed that was nice, but he really didn't see what the big deal was, even when Malfoy started experimentally bobbing his head up and down.

Then Malfoy opened his mouth wider or something, taking in several inches more, and started to really move. He sucked every time he pulled away, his mouth tight and hot around Harry, and Harry shook with the effort of not moving and thought that saying yes to this was the best idea he had ever had in his life. It seemed like no time at all before he was coming harder than he had possibly ever come before, and Malfoy was sputtering and swallowing around Harry's dick.

"Oh,  _God_ ," Harry said as quietly as he could, and hoped Malfoy didn't notice his voice cracking.

"I'm obviously a natural," Malfoy said proudly, so he had probably noticed.

Harry couldn't work up the energy to be annoyed. He just leaned against the wall for support and tried to catch his breath.

After several seconds of this, Malfoy jabbed a finger into his hip. Hard. "My turn," he said.

Harry couldn't work up the energy to be annoyed by that either. "Okay," he said, and slid down until he was sitting in front of a kneeling Malfoy. He reached up to finally undo that damned third button--which is when Blaise Zabini walked in.

His yell of outrage was so loud that Harry could hear answering keens from the Giant Squid. Harry turned and saw Zabini drawing his wand.

"Oh God, my wand's in my robes!" Malfoy said, clearly terrified, and yanked Harry out of the way right before a flash of dark red light blasted the stones behind his head to oblivion. "We've got to get out of here!"

Harry scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding another flash of red light, and pushed Malfoy ahead of him up the stairs. Zabini pelted after them, screamed curses in a language Harry didn't recognize.

"Not the gypsy hexes!" Malfoy shrieked, and put on extra speed. Harry shoved him into his room and raced in after him, slamming and locking the door behind them. Seconds later, something hit the outside of the door, shaking the entire room. "Thank God these doors are designed to take abuse," Malfoy said.

"How long do we have to stay in here?" Harry asked as another blast shook the walls.

Malfoy smiled wickedly. "Blaise does know how to hold a grudge," he said. "Possibly indefinitely." He was standing in front of Harry's bed. His hair shone white against the dark red curtains and the Snitches on his boxers were singing their siren song, and Harry had a sudden vision of Malfoy naked and wrapped in his sheets.

"Well, this is my chance to get some homework done," he said. Malfoy's face twisted in outrage, and Harry laughed and reached out to catch the Snitch.


End file.
